A world within a grain of sand
by Unexpectedtale
Summary: When Radek and Rodney decided to kill some time debating the differences between parallel worlds; they never thought that the entire existence of Atlantis itself would be put in danger. Rating for language, fisticuffs and subject to change :)
1. Chapter 1

AN: So this is just a random Alien/Last of Us-ish Stargate madness that popped into my head thanks to bingeing on this on Netflix...

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Expanded summary:

When McKay and Zalenka argued over the definition of parallel universes; they never imagined how much their theories would affect the very survival of Atlantis itself. When another world needs their help, can our favourite scientists save the day and the world as we know it?

Rating for violence and may change as the story continues!

Depending on interest, I will add this into my story update rotation :) I would love to hear what you think!

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 **Parasite vs. parallel**

John paused before going into the mess; he could hear yelling in English and Czech and that could only mean one thing.

The science boyfriends were at it again.

Girding his loins (only mentally of course; John still vividly remembered Elizabeth's lecture on public decency), he walked into the mess and ducked just in time to avoid some of the famous blue jello hurtling through the air.

It would almost be a shame to break up the entertainment too soon, so he decided not to.

After filling his tray with the day's disappointing 'special'; Sheppard found Ronon and Teyla who were watching the argument from a safe distance.

"What they bitc-" John hastily coughed, "Uh, arguing about this time?"

Teyla regarded Doctors McKay and Zalenka curiously, "I am not sure."

"Science stuff." The brawny Satedan said, clearly only interested to see if the name calling and dessert abuse would devolve into an actual brawl before someone responsible stepped in.

"I believe that they were discussing the theory of other universes like ours, but subtly different." Teyla eventually added.

John sighed in frustration, "But we already know they exist. McKay nearly blew one up!"

"Yeah, they agreed on that," Ronon grunted between mouthfuls of the suspicious meatloaf, "Then Zalenka said something about leech universes-"

"I believe it was parasite actually."

"Anyway, McKay then started to say the other guy was an idiot and then." Ronon gestured at the scene before them.

John rolled his eyes; _this_ was why civilians were trouble - especially the smart ones. They were the most trouble.

He stood and stomped over to the arguing eggheads and cleared his throat meaningfully. When this failed to interrupt the bi-lingual angry science-babble; John tried again, "Ahem."

 _That_ got their attention and the scientists stopped yelling and turned to John, looking as guilty as kids caught raiding the cookie jar.

Sheppard faltered; not entirely sure where he was going with this, so he fell back on what the others had deduc

ed, "So you're telling me that you both agree that there's other universes, but you're disturbing the peace because..."

"Zalenka started it!"

"I most certainly did not!"

"You did!" Rodney pouted.

The bespectacled scientist glared at the Canadian that was the bane of his life. God only knew how Rodney had managed to get not one, but two women to keep company with him. It just wasn't fair.

He knew that his theory on parasite universes was perfectly valid and had some pretty good evidence to back up his theories, but would that pompous ass listen?

Nooooo. Everything had to be Rodney's way, or no way at all.

He continued muttering darkly as the 'A' team left to go to a mission briefing.

One day they'd come across one (they seemed to find impossibilities on a regular basis); and McKay would have to eat his words!


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Hope you guys and gals enjoyed the story so far - I would love to hear what you think :)

Today we meet our protagonist, Hope. She is the only one I own (as well as her universe) everything else belongs to their respective owners; I'm just playing with them for a while!

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 **Chapter 2 - Putting on the Ritz**

Hope Fairchild shivered as the sun began to drop below the horizon and the first flurries of the night's snow swirled in the air.

Not for the first time did she question the logic that had brought her to Moscow. Sure, any work out in the back of beyond was likely to come her way as she was one of a dwindling number of Messengers who could both read and write many of the Cyrillic languages fluently.

Still; the streets of Moscow weren't safe at night and she needed to find shelter quickly.

Hope patted the holster on her hip, checking her trusty pistol was still there. She finally spotted a street sign; Tverskaya Street. A quick check on her map had her grinning; this was the street the Ritz-Carlton was on.

' _May as well hide out in style.'_

She spied the grand building in the growing dusk and picked up the pace. Twenty odd years of neglect had not been kind to the building and she had learned long ago that the bigger the building, the more likely you were to fall through the floor.

The front facade seemed largely untouched bar the growth of two decades of weeds. Hope could see however that the roof and the side she could see were badly damaged by the bombings that had decimated most large cities as an attempt to eliminate **them**.

Hope shuddered and hurried inside, not sensing any immediate danger. The young woman paused in the reception area, listening intently for any signs of life. Nothing.

 _'Good start. Now to get somewhere defensible.'_

She quietly and quickly strode across the entrance area; not willing to head up to the rooms until she was sure the area was as secure as possible and she had at least three exit strategies.

You didn't survive long in the wastes without planning for every eventuality.

Most hotels were built on largely similar floor plans, so she decided to head for where she believed the kitchens would be. She knew there'd be very little worth scavenging after twenty years, but there might be some swanky knives or equipment she could use to top up her own supplies.

She froze just inside the swinging doors; she was not alone. Hope could hear laboured breathing on the far side of the vast kitchens; deep in the shadows of course.

' _Damn_.'

She couldn't tell what it was; could be an animal, could be another survivor, hopefully it wasn't one of _them_.

She left her guns where they were and pulled the long-bladed hunting knife out of its sheath in her boot. She didn't want to risk alerting anything to her presence.

Not this close to darkness.

That was _Their_ time.

She dropped into a half-crouch and crept through the room, keeping the counters and units between her and the source of the noise as best she could.

As she closed in, she heard muttering. Not an animal then. Shame. She could have used some fresh meat and furs to trade this winter to get her out of this forsaken country.

"Da, khotya ya khodit' v doline smertnoy teni."

 _'Yea, though I walk in the valley of the shadow of death_.' Hope translated. Human then, _They_ had no use for words, let alone prayers.

Feeling confident that she had the advantage, Hope stood and switched on the military-style torch she kept clipped to the right side strap of her canvas backpack.

Sprawled on the floor was a young man who probably hadn't even been born before the Fall. One leg was bent in a very unnatural way and blood was slowly seeping through one side of his shirt and jacket, pooling on the hard floor.

He looked up in fear when the light went on and Hope could see he was wearing a similar uniform to her own. He was a Messenger; just like her.

She spoke the next line, replying in Russian, "I shall fear no evil; for I am the Messenger."

Some of the tension and fear left the boys pale and dirty face, leaving just the natural wariness that seemed the default expression since the collapse of civilised society.

"So what happened?"

"Fell through ceiling."

Hope looked up, and sure enough there was a partially-collapsed ceiling a few feet from the unfortunate boy.

Maybe he could have been saved before the Fall; or even five years after. But not now.

"So what's your name kid?" Hope placed the torch on the floor between them and sat down across from him.

"Chekhov. Messenger from the Krasogorsk Lancers." He coughed and Hope spotted blood on the corner of his mouth.

She sighed, "Messenger Fairchild out of the Portsmouth 151st."

Chekov's eyes widened, "But you're the First Messenger!"

Faith chuckled at his obvious hero worship. She still found it strange that she was almost being canonised simply for being too stubborn to die.

"So you do come when a messenger is dying..." The boy muttered, "I thought you'd be taller."

Hope patted his shoulder gently, "I just happened to be in the area kid."

His eyes started to close, and he tried to reach into his jacket. "You need to take this letter to America. It's very important. You can't pass it along the chain." He referred to the usual procedure of messengers passing letters from one to another so they didn't have to stray too far from their home territories.

"Military?" She asked.

Chekhov didn't reply.

She checked for a pulse. He had passed.

Hope cursed, it wasn't right! She delicately fished in his jacket and pulled out a still crisp white envelope. The address had a name and somewhat surprisingly a full address including a post code; even though those had gone the way of the dinosaurs and a life expectancy of more than forty.

"Col. O'Neill." Something about the name and Cheyenne Mountain sounded vaguely familiar. Perhaps her father had spoken about him; or maybe they'd briefly stayed on a navy base near there when she was a child.

The woman went on to take one of his identity tags to add to her collection to return to Messenger headquarters in Portsmouth.

She dumped out the contents of the boy's pack, taking any ammunition and food. The end of the world made you nothing if not practical.

She regretted that the ground had already frozen so she couldn't even give him a decent burial.

Hope woke with a jolt a few hours later; someone had walked into the reception of the hotel. They hadn't noticed the edge of the rug and their footsteps rang out from the marble floor.

In an instant she was on her feet and climbing up the debris to the first floor room that poor Chekov had met his end. She clambered out of the broken window and waited on the ledge.

A few moments later she heard voices down in the kitchens, there were at least three, all male.

"I found him!" One called in Russian

"Quietly you retard! Did you want to get us all killed by the fucking lurkers?" A second voice snapped.

A third voice, deeper and calmer than the others asked, "Does he have it?"

Hope heard rustling of cloth and then a thud, before the first voice spoke up again, "He's got nothing sir. I don't think he was alone though; someone laid him out real nice."

Hope cursed and debated whether to climb back in and hide; or scramble down into the darkness and take her chances with whatever was waiting out there.

"Search the building, the communication is our top priority!" The third voice snapped.

Decision made for her, Hope half climbed-half slid down the down pipe and into the snow.

She'd leave tracks, but hopefully it would snow some more before the group had finished searching the remains of the once grand hotel.

 **30 days, 2732km later**

Hope was pacing nervously at the docks, waiting for the ferry to take her back to England to arrive.

It had been an unpleasant journey; she'd been hounded by the trio of mercenaries she'd escaped from in Russia.

Whatever was in that letter must be damned important.

Hope thought she managed to give them the slip in Germany where she'd been able to hitch a ride with a bunch of traders who still had working trucks.

She felt antsy with the delays though; the sooner she could get some real distance between them; the better.

 **3 days later - 151st base, Portsmouth, England**

Hope finally relaxed once she was safely through the third security checkpoint. It was highly unlikely that the Russian mercs would be able to get through without clearance. The thought that they still might be able to sent a shudder right through her.

Hope flopped down onto the chair and scrubbed her hands through her brown hair. _'I_ _need a haircut.'_ The strands at the front hung down in front of her eyes and the back which had been clipped short at the start of her journey was now curling around her shoulders.

The messenger knew that she'd likely have to wait a while until the next tall ship was due to leave for the Americas and there was a tepid shower with her name calling.

Access to showers, free travel on the limited forms of transports, and first dibs on fresh food, were the perks of being a messenger that were still held firmly by the dwindling community. After all, with limited electricity and no more internet, they were the only option to keep information going.

 **40 days later - Canadian Coast**

Hope was curled up in a tight ball of misery on her bunk; the crossing had been awful.

She'd had second thoughts about getting the last transport before the winter storms were due in earnest; but she thought she'd seen one of the mercs in Portsmouth and she couldn't risk being trapped there.

They'd seemed to have hit every storm, patch of contrary wind, and plain old bad luck going. About a third of the way through the journey, five passengers had died, some to sickness, others to the Infection.

That particular circumstance had resulted in the captain ordering quarantine procedures which was, in Hope's opinion, a monumentally bad idea.

Sure enough by the time they were a few days out from their destination, more than half the passengers had died and even some crew were showing the first symptoms of the illness that had slaughtered 98% of the world's population.

She missed being able to see the sea. It reminded her of her father and of better times. It also helped ease the queasy feeling of mild seasickness.

"Miss Messenger?" A small voice and three knocks on her door, prodded her out of her self-indulgent misery.

"Yes?" Hope rolled out of her hammock and padded to the door, "What is it?"

The child, Willem, a cabin boy cleared his throat nervously, "The Cap'n says he has your map and that we should be making port before sundown."

Hope leaned her head against the wooden door. "Thank you kiddo. Tell him I'll be there in a moment." She waited until she heard small footsteps pad away.

She quickly checked her supplies and weapons were all present and accounted for before patting the waterproof packet that held the letter and a few fragments of a photograph that she kept in the inner pocket of her grey green shirt.

Hope settled the pack into place and left her cabin for the last time.

Without clocks or calendars, Hope had long ago lost track of anything more precise than seasons to judge the passage of time.

It was full summer now and she was quite enjoying her journey to find the mysterious Colonel O'Neill.

She didn't take any of the letters offered to her along the way; not wanting to let slip where she was headed. Hope did spend time writing letters for those who couldn't read or write and told stories to the little ones of movies she had watched long ago.

The last settlement had been a few days back now and Hope knew she had to try hunting soon. She was reluctant mainly due to unfamiliarity with the terrain and a healthy dose of paranoia.

Still, she was too seasoned a survivor to turn down an opportunity when a small deer came across her path.

She unclipped the sniper rifle she'd taken from a dead soldier and aimed for the critter.

As she squeezed the trigger; something startled the buck and the shot only wounded it.

"Shit!"

She couldn't let it suffer, it might draw unwanted attention. Hope put the rifle away and started to follow the blood trail.

It ended by a rusting chain link fence. Something had already gotten to the deer and bits of it decorated the fence like grotesque bunting.

Not wanting to encounter whatever had torn the young buck apart; Hope backtracked, following the fence until she came to a gate.

"Cheyenne Mountain."

Her heart sank. She was finally here, but the complex looked long deserted and certainly no military unit would let one of the Others so close to their base.

"Still; you have a job to do Hope." She told herself sternly, pulling out her military key card.

If there was still power; this would open the door to the bunker. One of the joys of being the oldest messenger was that she had been given clearance for most military bases that had been working on a cure at the time of the Fall.

She walked to the huge blast doors; there was no way she'd be getting through there - even if there was power, there looked to be a good few years' growth of vegetation covering most of the pitted metal.

Hope hurried to one of the smaller doors and pulled at the weeds until she could see the door lock. She cupped her hands around the display and grinned, the light above the card slot was glowing slightly.

"What the hell is running this place?"

Not one to turn her back on opportunity, Hope clawed at the vines, pulling them free and shoving the card into the slot.

At first, she thought nothing happened, but when she pushed on the door, it gave a little.

A few more shoves and there was a gap big enough for her to wiggle through. She debated whether or not to shut the door again. After all there was a least one Hunter in the area but she didn't want to get trapped inside a military complex and starve to death either.

In the end she decided to shut the door most of the way and barricade the way in with some of the crates that had been abandoned in the corridor. It might take her a few extra seconds to open the door; but at least it would deter most of the Others.

Hope fished out a pair of goggles and slipped them on; there was nothing worse than getting jabbed in the eye by debris hidden in the gloom. She had learned that the hard way and still had the small scar above her eye to prove it.

She walked for what felt like for an eternity; gradually making her way deeper into the mountain complex. There weren't many bodies on the upper levels which was a relief. Perhaps the base had just been decommissioned when the world's militaries began to consolidate their remaining resources to wait out the apocalypse and the bandits.

Things started to go wrong when she found the door that hadn't been on the mildewed plans screwed to the walls.

Her curiosity was piqued when her "all-access" card failed to open the door - even though the power indicator was glowing a bright green.

Hope pulled out her pistol and debated whether to shoot the lock, or to simply smash it. She decided against shooting; not wanting to chance either an unfortunate ricochet, or alerting whatever had killed the deer to her continued presence in the area. She smashed the butt of her gun down on the electric lock and was pleasantly surprised when the door swung open.

'Hopefully someone will have left a forwarding address for this bloody O'Neill and I can get the heck out of here.' There was something about this place that was starting to really get to her. Hope kept going deeper into the mountain; never entirely sure if the shadows were due to the intermittent light; or if she was no longer as alone as she'd thought.


End file.
